Caught in Between
by Animegoil
Summary: It had been an accident. Axel hadn't meant to nearly kill Zexion, though he had definitely meant to hurt him. But the only thing he really regretted was making Roxas choose, because Axel always came first. A collection of AxelRoxasZexion ficlets.
1. Accident

**Hn, so even though I've written in this fandom, it feels weird to delve into the Organization characters... but oh well. Enjoy!**

* * *

**_ Caught in the Painful Between_**

* * *

OoO

It had been an accident, sort of.

At least, Axel hadn't meant to lose his temper, or get into a fight with Zexion. And he hadn't meant to nearly kill him in the process either, though he had meant to hurt him.

"Lay still," Roxas whispered, and his voice was tight and nervous, as it was often wont to be, but this time it wasn't for personal reasons, but because of Axel's strained whimper. His back had been burned raw, looking much like a skinned, bleeding animal, and every touch of Roxas' small hand stung like it'd been dipped in alcohol and salt. The pain was so overwhelming it was almost numb and suffocating.

He supposed he should be glad that Roxas had helped him first. But it was only logical, though, because they were best friends, that the blond had taken the time to drag him out of the rubble, half conscious, and struggled under the redhead's dead weight.

But it was at Zexion's cost. Axel knew it, and Roxas knew it too, it was evident in the hurried way his hands sped through the bandages, and in how he wasn't taking his time to clean the mess around him and put the things in their place as he usually did. He spread soothing salve on his back, and gently wound the bandages around him, one hand on his shoulder too keep him from falling over. But even though he wasn't sacrificing quality, or Axel's comfort, the redhead could feel through the haze in his head the flickering pain of pressure as Roxas' fingers tightened in worry on his back, and could see it in Roxas' pallor and the drop of blood that had appeared on his lower lip.

Because every second he spent on Axel was another drop of blood that Zexion lost.

But Axel still came first.

Axel knew this, and maybe it was a fact he should have taken for granted—there was no way that Roxas would put anyone else before Axel and vice versa. But he still felt jealous, knowing it was silly because for all that counted, Roxas had come to him first, and was now delicately tying the bandages wound round his chest and abdomen. The sudden pressure sent waves of nauseating darkness to swim across his vision, and when he groaned, unable to do much else at this blurry point in consciousness, he felt the cool touch of what he assumed to be Roxas' hand on his cheek, stroking softly. He was laid back onto his bed on his stomach, and a cool, light blanket fluttered on him, with some whispered nonsense in his ear.

But Zexion was still out there, and they were both painfully aware of this, although in Axel's case it was more of a background notion than any actual thought, but it was very vivid to Roxas, and the blond's next touch was slightly trembling.

"Is that better?" he mouthed into Axel's ear, and brushed his lips softly over his forehead, so angelically innocent in this whole disaster. Axel tried to say something along the lines of 'Yes', while somewhere inside, in that ugly little place inside that was possessive and jealous, he wanted to say 'No, stay with me,'.

But he couldn't, because he knew Roxas would do it, even if it was tearing him inside that there was another place— another person— he was dying to be at.

So he moaned out a scratchy yes, his hand betraying him with a convulsive clutch on the sleeve of Roxas' robe. His fingers were gently pried off, one by one, lovingly and painfully, and Axel felt it more than the pain of his back.

The blond stood to leave, and Axel shifted painfully to get a last look at him, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out, and finally falling limp again.

Roxas' face was in front of his in a flash, glowing blue eyes fixed intently on his, and the small hand cupped Axel's face hesitantly. The redhead let out a grateful sigh, but Roxas' eyes flickered toward the doorway, and Axel's hopes crashed to the ground. He could almost hear the timer ticking in Roxas' head, anxiously counting the seconds Zexion lay at death's door in the basements below.

"Don't move," he heard as his eyes closed, "Sleep, Axel… please."

Axel complied, in part because he'd finally reached his limit, the other because he reluctantly responded to the desperation in the blond's voice. Roxas would not normally leave until Axel was safe and comfortable, until he wasn't awake to see Roxas turn his back on him and leave. And that was the way Axel preferred it, but this time, Roxas had someone else to consider, and the thought burned and writhed inside Axel's head.

There was another shuddering kiss pressed to his lips this time, and Roxas whispered something against his skin, then it was gone, and Axel was left alone with the darkness engulfing him. But even as his mind fogged over, he felt the stab of jealousy as the most painful part of it all.

OoO

* * *


	2. Space

**Alright, so though I haven't forgotten future ideas for this threesome, I'd forgotten about... the fact that this existed? And I feel like some had been posted already but deleted for some reason, but I can't remember what and why, so I'll just post them all up. **

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

**_Space_**

* * *

Axel often feels like he's left out. Too much space around him, he thinks, because he's the type who _craves_ touch, because it's such a wonderful physical sensation, and balances the little empty space that pumps blood throughout his body. He loves _feeling_, and if emotionally that's a rather hard thing, even when he can fool his mind into thinking he is, then physically it's the next best thing. He lounges after Roxas and chases after Zexion on the off chance of stealing a kiss or a touch under the chin, of knowing there's something sharing the empty air around him. He wants his skin to feel warmth, his ears to hear the breathing next to him, to fill the air with chatter and the odd grunt or hum that will respond to him periodically. He doesn't know the definition of "personal space", because he doesn't _want_ it

It's rather unlike both Zexion and Roxas.

Roxas, who spends his days chasing after Nobodies to fight and expend his restlessness on, to vent the anger that comes from the helplessness he feels at his emptiness, likes his personal space. Roxas, who sometimes just sits and stares at the moon like Saïx, and dwells on the mystery that they are, is a constant frustration to Axel. Because Axel may not feel _loneliness_, per say, but knows he's bored and restless and confused when he's alone. He knows there's a pleasurable lightness in his mind when he's with him, when he's there to tease and poke and prod, both with words and with hands. But Roxas more often than not turns violently to him and pushes him away, his sapphire eyes flashing and promising pain, and he flurries about, storms to the other side of the room and yells at Axel to leave him alone, because of course it's been the third or fifth time he's told Axel to leave. And Axel will, looking despondently at the figure that cries to the moon with a dry face.

Zexion, who sits in the middle of the furthest room of the lowest basement, with a single candlestick with which he'll read the books in the library, which when it burns out, he'll carve in the dark into some magnificent pattern and then leave there, among a pile of similar works of art that Axel takes to admire and then melt into a new candle, likes his personal space. Zexion, who goes into the highest tower when the moon is in the right position, and plays with broken glass, formulating plans and reflecting on his past life as he watches the rainbow formed on the wall as the light is refracted through the glass, is a constant source of confusion for Axel. Because Axel may not feel _disappointment_, so to speak, but he knows he wants to kick something when Zexion kicks him out. Zexion merely shrugs him off when Axel slings an arm about him and tries to coax a kiss from the one he places on his neck, and doesn't respond when Axel babbles on long after Zexion has withdrawn into his mind to escape him, or even takes the initiative when Axel has been suffocating him with his overbearing presence and simply leaves the room. And then Axel is left sighing, lighting and extinguishing a candle over and over, his body remembering the warmth he feels when they are together, the intensity of Zexion's gaze when his violet eyes are focused on him, when his body his leaning into his, even as all he does is stare at the blank wall and let Axel play with his hair.

In short, he's often left to his own devices, and Axel doesn't particularly like that. He wishes, during those times, that they weren't such sticklers about personal space. But then he goes into their room at night, and goes to bed, and Roxas is on one side, because he likes having space, and Zexion is on the other side, because he likes having his space too, and so that only leaves the middle for Axel. And then he can stop feeling left out, with their two bodies cradling him, and is actually grateful that they like their space.

* * *

**More to come soon! And no, it won't all be crazy fluff like this. **:)


	3. Never

**Theme 2: Never.  
**

**Enjoy! **

* * *

**_Never   
_**

* * *

He never feels more trapped than when he dreams. It's a darkness different than the realm they live in, that is darkness that he _belongs_ to. This is opaque obscurity that drags him and pulls him, and opens up to reveal flashes of a life where he was _someone_, where bursts of pain beat in his chest, scarring, scalding, torching, because the empty space there can't take the _emotion_, even if it's just the _memory_ of having emotion. He can't take the splashes of color that choke him in the night, because it leaves his mind screaming in agony as he subconsciously tries to _understand_ the pain of that person's death, the happiness at that gift on that day, the fear when he saw the fire in front of him, the anger at that particular face. It's all a huge blur that presses down on him, wanting him to remember, begging him to understand, but he's beyond that now, he doesn't have the _capabilities_ to do more than remember the visuals. The emotions of the fleeting memories that haunt his dream leave him drained and gasping when he wakes him, his head is splitting and he can't even move to do more than moan, because it's just so far beyond his body, his _being's_, limit to understand what was happening. He sometimes envies Roxas, because he doesn't remember his past, he doesn't feel asphyxiated by emotions that his body remembers, that his mind struggles to vainly understand with the logic that is the only remnant of the human being he once supposedly was. He wonders why he's what he is, what could have made him so supposedly strong that he retained his body, that he did not lose shape. Had he had something important in his life? He thinks he remembers white walls, instruments, a bright smile, a myriad of other images, but he doesn't know which ones were the important ones, unless he can measure that by the pain of his mind's unbending. He wants to ask Axel how he deals with it.

He's going to be sick, he's sitting up in bed but knowing he's going to give out soon, and he can't see for the pain is so unbearable, so _breaking_ that it blinds his eyes, and his hands are buried somewhere in his scalp, he can vaguely feels his fingernails cutting into it. Shaking, gasping, whimpering, and all he knows is he feels trapped, by the body that wants to feel, but the mind that can't understand because the heart isn't _there_.

But then there's arms around him, he can't really count, but somehow knows there's two pairs, he's feeling so much heat on one side, and then heat that feels just a tad different on the other side, and for some reason he concludes without hesitation, in the recesses of his mind, the part that's not enveloped in handicapping fire, his subconscious, that they are two. And he lets them wrap around him, basks in the heat, lets his body give out without complaint and dissolves into whatever is holding him up, reaches in his mind for the soft sounds that stroke his consciousness, dispels the flashes of faded colors for the dark point of blue and green that he catches glimpses of in front of him. His body's relaxing, his mind isn't quite working yet, an overloaded circuit, and it'll take time to repair, but he knows whatever is around him, the smooth heat cocooning him and the soft murmurs, some soft some rough, that flutter in his ear are easing him out of the opaque desperation that clouded him. Somehow, somehow, they promise it'll be alright, and at any other moment his mind would have scoffed, because there is no such thing as 'alright', but his mind's just sizzled and burnt out, and not quite thinking much, and he's too unaware of anything but pain and fleeting sensations to doubt what his body willingly accepts.

He never wants this heat, this warmth that envelops him and kisses him gently, and lays him down and settles on either side of him, to disappear.

* * *

**God I love these three so much. **


End file.
